a cup of milk at the gates of hell

i never made it. i never really crossed into that world. i stood at its gates, and met a couple of wanderers who happened to be walking nearby with her. but i never really got into there, never explored its fields, never drank from its brooks, never took any of its fruits. my presence was simply not desired there. it took you quite a long time to create that world of yours - for i remember those early, dark days, when your world was but a smouldering wasteland of ash and dust, empty of any life. back then, i opened the gates of my own plane, granted you entrance and armed myself to wage war on your ghosts, on your loneliness. and once the loneliness was broken, once that world was shining and alive and warm, its gates were closed right in my face. makes sense.

now the question is, why the hell has this crossed my mind when i was drinking my cup of milk before going to bed?