A diary about the other side of moving abroad

I thought about everything that had happened before that fateful day. I still couldn't believe that I had been cut off from this life, how everything had led to me lying down here now. Like flashes of light, little episodes from the time before lit up inside of me. The bridge, the cold, the impact. Why had I been there? The fateful day had been erased from my mind. Maybe an even longer time? My last memory I can recall, was me getting ready for university. The alarm clock, the tea, the streetcar. The memories were fraying.
Positive memories mingled with negative ones. I liked my time at the university. I liked what I was studying, I liked my university and the facilities. In the beginning, I made a few acquaintances that were close to friendships. But as time went by, conversations became mere greetings and at some point everyone was in such a hurry that I found myself sitting alone at the dining hall table. At first it didn't bother me that much, but at some point I wondered if I belonged there.
My silver lining at that time was a special person. After our first encounter, I never thought we would meet again. A few weeks later, when I had almost forgotten about her, we met in a café by chance. She was sitting alone at a table reading a book about the French Revolution. I had just returned home from a semester abroad in Paris and asked if I could sit with her. Our passion for France brought us closer and a single meeting turned into many. She spoke French and the language of love. I motivated her to enrol at my university. She conquered the faculty leaderboards and my heart. At the end of a turbulent summer, I proposed to her and she immediately said yes. At the same time, she was accepted for a semester abroad at the Sorbonne. Our wedding night was the night before she left. I accompanied her for two weeks, our honeymoon, sort of. When I flew home alone, the doubts and loneliness set in. I never got enough sleep because of the time difference. I missed the touching. The distance to her was no longer just physical. And I encountered other women who promised an easier life. But in the end, I stayed faithful to her. When she came back, our wounds healed and we got back together. The happiness that had turned into the opposite in the months before moved back into my house with her. She accepted a small job, which was offered to her, right where we met for the first time.
I never thought it would all come down to this, back then in the library.