Okiki Ajayi,
my Princess

I still remember the exact moment I looked at you and thought — this is the person I want to stand beside for every season of my life. Not because everything was perfect, but because even in our imperfections, you made every single day feel like it meant something. Okiki, losing you was the loudest silence I have ever had to live in.

Do you know what I missed the most? Not the grand moments — but the quiet ones. The way you laughed at something only the two of us would find funny. The way the world felt smaller and safer whenever you were in it. I have been carrying that laughter with me everywhere, hoping one day I get to hear it again directed at me.

I will not pretend I handled everything right, because I did not. But I want you to know that every mistake I made came from a version of me who had not yet understood how rare you are. I understand now. I understand in ways that keep me awake at night, replaying things I should have said and done differently. You deserved better — and I am ready to be better.

What is love without you in my life

There is a kind of love that does not announce itself loudly — it just quietly becomes the foundation of everything. That is what you were to me, Okiki. The foundation. And when you left, I did not just lose you — I lost the ground beneath me. I have spent every day since then trying to find solid ground again, and the truth is, it only exists where you are.

I have met people who are kind. I have met people who are brilliant. But I have never met anyone who is both — with grace — the way you are. You have this extraordinary ability to make people feel seen. You made me feel seen. And I was foolish enough to not protect that gift the way it deserved. Please know: I see you fully now.

They say time heals everything. But time without you has only taught me one thing over and over — that there is no version of healing that does not include having you back in my life. I am not the same person I was. I have grown in the spaces of missing you. And everything I have grown into, I want to pour back into us.

You carry yourself with a kind of dignity that most people spend their whole lives chasing. The way you hold your head up even when things are hard, the way you love people even when you are hurting — that is not ordinary, Okiki. That is rare. And I want to be worthy of that rarity. I want to earn the right to stand next to it.

I wrote you letters in my head that I never sent. I rehearsed conversations that never happened. I held back words that should have been said a long time ago. So let me say them now, simply and clearly: I love you. Not the memory of you — you, exactly as you are today. Whatever has changed, whatever has grown, I love all of it.

You know that feeling when a song comes on and suddenly you are right back in a moment you thought you had forgotten? That is every day for me. Everything reminds me of you — and instead of running from it, I have decided to let it remind me of what I am fighting for. I am fighting for this. For us. For another chance.

I am a developer. I build things. I fix broken systems. I debug code for hours until it finally works. But the one thing I could never build or fix on my own is what I feel when I think of you. That is not a system. That is something that only works with you in it. Okiki, you are the variable that makes everything else resolve.

I think about the version of us that could exist — the one where we choose each other with full awareness, where we have learned from every stumble and misstep. That version is still possible, Okiki. We are both still here. We are both still breathing. And love, real love, does not expire just because time passed.

Your smile is not just beautiful — it is generous. It gives something to whoever is lucky enough to receive it. I was lucky enough, for a season. And I did not guard that luck the way I should have. I am asking — not demanding, not assuming — just asking, with every piece of humility I have: could you let me be lucky again?

Distance has a way of sharpening things. When you are close to someone, you sometimes take for granted the small things — the texture of who they are, the specific way they make the world warmer. Distance strips all of that away and leaves only the truth. And the truth, Okiki, is that you have always been the one.

I know I do not have the right to ask for your heart again just because I want it. Rights are earned. So let me say this: I am willing to earn it. Slowly. Patiently. Without pressure or expectation. I just want the chance to show you that the man standing here now is someone worth trusting with something as precious as you.

There were days after we ended when I tried to convince myself that I would be fine. And some days I almost believed it. But fine is not the same as whole. And I have not been whole since you. I am not telling you this to make you feel burdened — I am telling you because you deserve honesty, not performance.

You have this way of caring for people that is so effortless it looks like breathing. You do not even notice it. But the people around you — they notice. They feel it. I felt it in every small thing you did. And when it was gone, the absence of it was its own kind of loud. I want to be in the presence of that warmth again, Okiki.

We were not perfect. I do not want perfect — perfect is fragile and cold. What I want is real. What I want is the kind of love that bends without breaking, that apologizes and means it, that chooses each other again every single day. I want that with you. Only with you.

Someday, when we are both old and the world has changed around us a hundred times over, I want to be sitting beside you, watching it all from a place we built together. That future is so clear in my mind it almost hurts. All it needs is for you to say yes — not to forever right now, but to a beginning. Just a beginning.

You made me want to be a better man. Not because you demanded it — but because being near you made mediocrity feel like a waste. You raised the standard just by existing. I want to meet that standard, Okiki. I want to look you in the eyes and have you believe that I actually did the work. Because I have.

I have prayed more in the seasons of missing you than I ever did before. Not just for us — but for you. For your peace, your joy, your safety, everything you deserve. And if it turns out that your joy is somewhere I am not, I will find a way to make peace with that. But I hope — I truly hope — that your joy and I can occupy the same space.

I have heard people say that some connections are once-in-a-lifetime. I used to think that was poetic exaggeration. And then I met you. And then I lost you. And then I understood what it actually means to have had something that cannot be replicated. You are once-in-a-lifetime, Okiki. I am not willing to let that lifetime pass without trying.

There is a particular kind of courage it takes to love someone again after being hurt. I am not asking you to be reckless with your heart — I am asking you to be brave. Just brave enough to let me show you that this time, I know what I have. This time, I will not let it slip through my hands like I am holding water.

I see your strength in everything you do. The way you carry yourself. The way you handle difficulty without letting it harden you. That strength is one of the most beautiful things about you — and I want to spend the rest of my time being someone that strength does not have to fight against. I want to be the place where it rests.

Not a single day has passed that you have not crossed my mind. Not one. You live in the small pockets of every ordinary day — in the morning, in the evening, in the silence between things. If love were measured in thoughts, mine would stretch further than this earth. You are always with me, Okiki. I just want to be with you too.

I want to be the reason you feel safe enough to dream out loud again. The reason you laugh without holding back. The reason mornings feel like possibility instead of routine. I know I hurt you before — but hurt people can heal, and healed people can love differently. I am different now, and I want to prove it to you one day at a time.

You never had to try to be special — you just were. Effortlessly, completely, undeniably special. The kind of special that makes ordinary people become better just by being around it. You are the kind of person poems are written about without the writer even realising it. And I am here, writing this, completely aware of what you are.

If I could go back to every moment I chose wrong, I would choose you instead. Every single time. Not because it is easy — but because you are worth every hard choice. You are worth the discomfort of change, the difficulty of growth, the vulnerability of asking for another chance. You are worth all of it. You always were.

I do not know exactly what the future holds. But I know this: I want to face it with you. Not just the beautiful parts — the difficult ones too. The uncertain mornings, the complicated conversations, the seasons that test us. I want all of it with you, because every version of life that includes you is better than every version that does not.

Okiki Ajayi. My princess. My person. This page is not just a website — it is a love letter built with every skill I have, because I wanted to give you something that felt as extraordinary as you are. I cannot promise perfection. But I can promise presence. Patience. Growth. And a love so deliberate that you will never again have to wonder where you stand with me. Please give us a chance.