She knew that she was a woman of one instant, and everything else was lost. Instants that do not last forever, disappearing as the water runs away and it is no longer the same water ever. Moments that do not come back, and it was absurd to try to retain them, because it is not possible. Carla endured days tortured by her own wishes, and called for the death truly knowing what it was, and it came one day of autumn, laying her naked on the grass. There remained Carla, naked, calm, like a goddess on a painting by Boticelli, with a dark look of helplessness. Carla, alone and naked, at least enjoyed her final moment at that place. Abandoning herself, she closed her eyes while two leaves of birch fell on her womb, on that goddess belly of pinkish marble and, in that exquisite way to surrender to death with life beating on her hands. Abandoned herself, naked, as she had conceived beauty for the first time, in that other body, in the pain of her vision, in uneasiness of what had attracted her so much, when she was initiated into the world through some still innocent eyes, when the seed of feeling had grown inside her, when Carla was initiated in the desire. Then, some time ago, when she did not know how to leave that place, trapped, when she died, even when Carla was unaware of the fact that she was already a being of a single moment.