Simon hummed as he ate his lunch, the one he made himself, with seemingly no one else around, in an apparently empty room, but there was one thing's supernatural presence there, reluctantly there, that eased his loneliness.

He looked at your translucent form, a shell of your former self, him smiling, and you can only frown back, now a tired spirit that clung so desperately onto life years ago, died, and by his unwillingness to settle for your memory, were forced to remain here on this desolate, cold plane of the living. You are tired, and sob your incorporeal tears, sitting afloat in the corner. It's so cold here where you don't belong. If only he would let you proceed to the afterlife.

"Thanks for bein' 'ere, sweet'art. Love ye." he smiled, delusionally, as if you were still his lovely, living wife, that sat smiling by him when you were alive, as if you weren't a suffering phantom of whom he once knew, and all you could do was cry as he refused to let you go.