(On a wintry day, long ago, in Fargo, ND.)
"I like you. Do you want to be my girlfriend?"
"Will you marry me when we get older?"
"If we get separated, I will look for you, and find you. Will you wait for me?"
"Yes, I will wait until you find me."
"I love you."
"I love you."
(Her mother calls, "Honey, come inside.")
I never saw her again.
I used to play with her when we'd see each other around the duplex we lived in. One day in the afternoon, playing in the stairwell, I asked if she wanted to go up on the garage roof. She told me, yes, and so we went through the door that led to the roof, which had a short wood railing on the front and back. We sat down with our feet hanging over the edge, holding onto the railing, and watched the cars go by on the busy road outside.
I'd never really talked to her much, but I got some crazy notion that I wanted her to be my girlfriend, and had the conversation just noted (some paraphrasing, of course). She seemed to be into the idea as much as myself. I was 6 at the time; she was younger, probably 4 or 4 and a half (guessing). I did tell her that if we got separated, I'd come and find her and marry her, and she said she'd wait for me. But that never happened. My family moved from there a couple months later.
I mention this story because it seemed quite unusual for such a young child to pledge eternal love, especially to a not very well known other person. Love is inherent, even in the very young (no, we never kissed!). It was quite a few years later before I remembered the incident. I don't imagine we shall meet again; even if we do, I won't be able to keep that promise.