August 01, 2002 | 12:04 AM

I just want to say this so I�ll remember it later.

I love my second job.

I fucking love it.

I can�t believe how lucky I am that my second income is something I would do for free.

Today we had chocolate cake and champagne.

And me and Tom sang a duet.

And I just love it there.

I wish I could pull up a sleeping bag and night-light and have all my dreams take place there, while Bach plays in the background.

I love walking home from my second job.

Listening to Stereolab or Sinatra and strolling past the Reflecting Pool and over towards Kenmore Square.

And I love those nights that I can hang out late with Linda and Amy.

And hear their stories.

I want as many stories as I can hold.

The more the better.

I collect stories.

I want to know all about you.

I want to know your favorite ice cream flavor and all about your first kiss. I want to hear about the chairs in your kitchen when you were a toddler. And about how you lost your first pet.

I want to see the world through your eyes and I want your handwriting on my wall. I want to study its curves and loops and decipher the hidden metaphors inherent in its design.

I want to have you over for tea and for margaritas. I want to watch you on my couch, your toes curling and your arms stretching toward the ceiling. I want to throw a blanket over your soft dozing body as you dream. And I want to make you breakfast. Do you like scrambled eggs and bacon? Do you like watching silent films on a Saturday morning?

I want so much to know you. All of you.

These are things I miss. These introductions. These backward love letters and apologies. I want to stretch out to you. I want to grasp on to your hand and not back down until sunrise when we go our separate ways.

I'll write the next part of the train story tomorrow, if I have the time.