Before a single memory appears, the speaker is already giving themselves orders. "Breathe normally. In. Out. Repeat." sounds like advice for a panic attack, and the full stops chop the breath into pieces. The body follows with lungs that hurt and eyes that "want to close all the time." Even the title, «01//01//16», looks more like a date stamp than a title, the kind of thing written at the top of a diary page. That is only my reading of it, but it suits the poem, which feels like a private note we happen to catch over someone's shoulder.
The poem is about trying to keep going after a relationship has ended, and about refusing to feel the loss. Its central idea is that the good memories hurt most. The speaker does not lock away the bad times. They lock away "what we had," because the happiness is what burns.
The second stanza has a strange demand: "I must not sleep, I must stay awake, stay lovely, stay pretty." The repeated "stay" sounds like a rule drilled into the speaker, and the goal is not "strong" but "lovely" and "pretty," an appearance kept up for others. The next stanza goes further: the speaker must stay "intact," a word we usually use for objects that might crack. Fire arrives here as a threat ("in order to not start burning"), and the mind becomes a place with a restricted "area" and a locked door.
The longest stanza is the heart of the poem and the only one that leaves the speaker's own situation. "Do you know this moment" has no question mark, so it is half question, half invitation. Then comes an ordinary summer scene: you swim, you are wet, you look for a place to lie down, you sit and "immediately jump up again / Because you burned your back." The tenses slip ("You were swimming and you're wet"), as if the memory were pushing into the present. The image is exact. Water, sun and rest are all pleasures, yet the burn comes at the very moment you relax. Love's memories work the same way, because the hurt arrives when the guard is down. The "you" also shifts from the lost person to the reader, who is made to feel the hot ground too.
Once the image is in place, the comparison is dropped and the statement is plain: "Every time I remember what we had / I get burned." The sit-and-jump rhythm returns in "I flee / I flee far, far away." The line break makes the repetition stumble, and "far, far" sounds almost childlike. Having first "locked" the memories, the speaker now also "hides" them, a double concealment that suggests the lock is not holding.
The final lines turn the blame around: "Like they were kind of cruel to me / Like they dared to hurt me." The memories become insolent people, and "kind of" gives the voice a casual, shrugging tone. The repeated "Like" matters most. The speaker does not say the memories are cruel, only that they are treated as if they were. That small word admits the accusation is a story told to justify running away, and the poem ends there without comfort.
There is no rhyme and no regular metre. The stanzas run three, two, three, six, five and two lines, and the longest sits in the middle. The memory takes up the most room exactly where the speaker claims to be keeping it shut away. The rhythm also follows the emotion. Clipped commands open the poem, the middle runs on with "and" and "because," and the end contracts again into short flight and hiding.
The poem's significance lies in its plainness. It uses simple words and one well-chosen image, and it needs nothing more to make grief physical. It shows a mind managing pain by controlling the body and keeping up appearances, and it is honest enough to let the excuse show at the end.