Perfect Day

I can't avoid thinking of those days when everything was black or white. Those days when something happened to my daily experience and everything turned into hell or heaven, no intermediate points. I didn't really know my identity, so my reactions were very dissimilar one each other. Sometimes, I wasn't able to recognize myself.

This was specially true when I was fallen in love with her. She was the reason of any reaction, my identity was led by her presence. Bad days, good days, everything depending on what she said, what she did. Black and white, dots, bits.