I sit here and write this as rain pelts my apartment’s windows, it’s coats them with moisture and I’m reminded of the days when I used to sit at home in my room at my parents house and lie on my bed listening to the rain, thinking about the places I could be, of all of the lives I could live and the people I could be. Even as a kid, I remember I had a big imagination. I would always dream of being somewhere else, of having someone by my side and all of the places I could do. Stories have power. Writing has power. It’s been said before.…