Of course, hearts can be made out of anything.  But should you?

It seemed to me that love could be created – in fact, that it might be the only path by which there was any hope of me finding it.  In earnest, with sincerity, I took every action I could to demonstrate “I love you.”  Step by step, I negotiated a staircase as torturous and rickety as anything Borges ever dreamt.  The further I climbed away from my feeling heart, the farther I fell into self-loathing.

Dorothy has to find out for herself.  The power isn’t in her red shoes, it is in her quest.  Dorothy chooses to become a seeker, of her own free will.  Maybe that is the moral of my story.  To experience my heart, I had to fall away from love, and live to tell myself another tale.