Adults When I Was A Child Vs Adults When I've Became One Myself

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When I was small the adults that I love seemed like giants that held untold truths about the world. The experiences they had before I was born were like fairy tales from storybooks and lifetime opportunities that I could have only hoped to accomplish when I grew up myself. What daring heroes and heroines my beloved adults were in their legends. How awe-inspiring those tales were. My beloved adults were perfect and knew more than my young mind could handle. That time of my childhood all those bigger than me were perfect.

How perfect you seemed when I was young.
The world spun in the direction you told it to.
Adventures of a time I wasn't around to experience
as well as the people I've never met filled my heart with
endless curiosity.
Then I got older,
Perfection didn't mimic the adults in my life features.
Growing up didn't just erase the monsters,
fears, anxieties, and childish dreams.
Getting older turned the world into a more
twisted, cruel, and unjust reality.
But it wasn't that the world just one day
turned into something my young mind won't
recognize, it was like that all my life.
Like how my beloved adults were humans,
not heroes and heroines of lore.

Since I've been recovering from the earthquake that was my grandfather's passing, the reality of my loved one's mortality has been straining my mind. With the reawakening of the knowledge of mortality the acceptance of being human flaws and all have taken first place in my mind. That those who have watched me grow up have unappealing personality traits. The heroes and heroines are not always right when we disagree. That I myself have not known the full story of the myth of the deceased members of family and friends. Despite the flaws appearing on the image of once flawless heroes and heroines, I have not come to love those adults less. I realize that one day I too will be a heroine that is a human.