Memory as a course charted, as grooves cut into void through perennial retreading.
Have I been here before can be replaced by have I been here again?
It is part of the tease and conundrum of endless.
Ask yourself—have I been here again? how many times? was I the same person? in Memory’s wardrobe of existential drag, what did I wear and who did I become?
To be lost is to be found wanting. Some choose lost as an outlet, or alternate grieving process. Some choose lost as a sense of subterfuge and misdirection. Some choose lost so as to give their wanderer relevant use for compass and moonlight. Some have loss thrust upon them.
The footprints you are following in the void may be your own.

