I cursed the sterile white room where Ann died

As I stood in the stark, sterile white room where Ann took her last breath, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger and grief wash over me.

The cold, clinical environment seemed so unfitting for the vibrant soul that had once inhabited this space.

I cursed the fluorescent lights that illuminated her pale, lifeless face and the antiseptic smell that lingered in the air.

Memories of laughter and love filled the room, clashing with the harsh reality of death that now surrounded me.

I traced my fingers along the cold, metal bed where Ann had laid, her hand slipping from mine as she slipped away.

The walls seemed to close in on me, suffocating me with their emptiness and despair.

I wished I could erase the sterile white walls and replace them with the warmth and comfort that Ann deserved in her final moments.

But all I could do was stand in that room, consumed by grief and regret, cursing the unforgiving environment that had robbed me of my beloved Ann.

And as I finally turned to leave, I whispered a silent vow to never forget the vibrant spirit that once graced this sterile white room.