I miss you.

I remember you when I was a little girl and my mother handed me a piano book with a red apple and a red border on it.
You remind me of the time when my father and I brought about twenty books from the public library, and after dinner, I read them out loud, one by one.
I was next to you when I proudly recited the last lesson in my little Chinese book.
You were so loyal when I learned how to add and borrow numbers.
Wasn't it great when I told my mom I needed a piano to play every day for her as I looked up from half her height, and got that piano the next week?
Little Chinese girls love new dresses.
Fast forward, and I hug you with intense elation as my mom answers the phone and says, "YOU WON!" I did? I did? Is it true? Did my work pay off? REALLY? Oh joy!
And then back to the practice room. I can't stop smiling at you.
Seeing a red rose in the flower vase, I turn around and there you are, chuckling in the corner.
My first factoring problem was your best.
I miss you. Really, I do.

But I don't remember how to find you again.