More Often Than Sometimes

I didn't tell my mother that I loved her.
Not today.
Not yesterday.
Not the day before.

When?

More often than sometimes,
we take everyone for granted
like their presence in our lives
will always remain as constant as the sun.
they don't;
there will be rainy days.

More often than sometimes,
we feel like people take us for granted
like our presence in their lives
are like grains of sand in the Sahara Desert.
but
without those grains of sand,
would it be the Sahara Desert?

More often than sometimes,
we forget that we are alive
like the blood pumping in our veins
has gone stagnant.
it hasn't;
we cannot bleed ourselves dry.

More often than sometimes,
I wish I had
told my mother that I loved her
that her presence in my life was
like breaths of oxygen to my burning lungs.
I didn't;
but more often than sometimes,
I wish I had.