Being A Sock Must Be A Lonely Existence

Being a sock must be a lonely existence. First you are a pair, then you are alone. You roam somewhere far off without your twin with whom you co-existed. It must be lonely, this life socks lead. I wonder where do socks go when they disappear? They get lost somewhere between the washer, the dryer, and the laundry basket. Do they go where the lint goes? Do they float off into space? Do they just walk off and go to a far better place?