I remember that night. I felt weird after getting home from you, and went to take a shower. I took off my shirt and saw the prints of your kisses, your lipstick stained on me, my chest. In the darkness that night I thought your lipstick was black, but then I saw in the light that it was actually a very dark tint of purple, which was my favorite color. You knew that.
     Looking back on that I feel alone. But not the sad, "just want someone to cuddle with" kind of loneliness, but the kind of loneliness mankind will most likely feel in a few centuries, having made no contact with anything extraterrestrial. Sending out its signals, only to receive silence that could break any eardrum with its volume, receiving no word that we aren't as alone as we think. Hopefully, we aren't.
Hopefully, I'm not.
Until we hear the call, the signal, we'll only hope that we aren't the only one of our kind out there.
Just like I hope.