"I was searching for the things that never change"

What am I searching for? Your steady hands, thumbs brushing over collarbones, fingertips tucking in a stray hair. All of us lying down on the carpet in my room, shoulders against each other, windows open. A gentle nudge in the morning, get up it's noon already do you want lunch? The radio blaring when he forgets to close the garage door. The faint light in the basement and noises the sewing machine makes when she steps on the peddle, when she makes that last stitch. That look on your face - you know what I'm thinking about, but you'll wait until I'm ready. I guess there are a few things.