Amnesia in Technicolor

(Side Note: This is my first short story so I apologize in advance if this is not very good. I just had a nice idea and thought it would be cool to write it down. Also, I beg you, please, tell me what you think. Every critic is constructive, so don't be afraid of speaking up your mind.)

Yaroslav Tolstoy is a 23-year-old Russian man that found himself alone, after a troubled, tumultuous life. He spends his days writing about the only thing he remembers: Violet Finnegan, the Irish woman who he fell in love with. His love for her is the thing that keeps him alive, but why is he alone? And why does he spend his days in a white room at a hospital? What could a young man possibly do to be there?