No Need To Fret

In the twilight of the morning before the razor woke itself, I dreamed that all of us, with no exception, were searching only for the heart of heart, that was still growing in our chests. I'll call her Mary, and she possesses it, this heart of heart. I only wonder now if knowing one will be sufficient to save and nurture fully what is known only to me as my most valuable, also sacred of possessions. But does this entity protect itself by placing armour skilfully around its sphere of sheer humanity, and godliness. No need to fret.