She has him saying things she always wanted to hear. But the words don't do what she thought they'd do. They are not at home in her. They are well-meaning strangers playing the role of friends. Though uneasy as hostess, she invites them in over and over again, hoping to become comfortable in their presence. She even sends out similar words to him, charged with the task of doing something in her as much as him. "Can my words to him create in me that which his words to me cannot? Must I rely on another to kindle love within me? Who creates love, anyway?" She has wanted so long to be loved, and now she is, by a decent, kind, man. She thinks maybe she has wanted it so long that she has simply forgotten to love in return. "Time with him will help me remember." It doesn't. He cries like he's never cried before after she says goodbye.