She sent a picture

-He smiled, it spread slowly across his face and stayed there, stuck as he gazed at the picture, the smiling face. And yet no mortal could've known what made him smile, for his gaze was disfocused and his smile hung lopsided on his face and his eyes were closed: the picture was as though burnt in his eyes and so he needed no form or medium to see it. 

It was a sort of strange trance, and when Sibtain sitting opposite him asked him for the second time what he wanted for dinner, he turned slowly, the broad smile still covering his whole face: anyone would've thought he was mad; yet she kept smiling ever so broadly in that picture, aching beautiful, and so, so did he. 

Perhaps if he had not been interrupted then, he and the picture would've smiled for all eternity. 

There was a slight lump in his throat, the beginnings of tears, yet there was no grief: they were tears of joy, tears of happiness, tears of beauty, tears of ecstasy, tears of an imaginable joy that his little body just could not contain; and so it overflowed, in smiles and tears, and he cherished them, the smile still stuck on his face: for in the picture, she still smiled. And so, so did he.