Spacious.

‘’I need more space," he said.

I pushed the Negroni a little farther from him and slid the cigar box to the edge of the bar, creating what I believed was a respectable amount of space.

"There," I said. "A few more square inches of freedom."

He looked at me, almost offended.

"You also need humor," I said.

He stared at me.

"I need space to feel creative. I feel crowded all the time. By obligations, expectations, messages, and opinions. By people asking how things are going before I've had the chance to figure out how they're going’’

So you need fewer people, less work, and no responsibility’’

"No."

"Then what do you mean by space?"

He was looking at the glass, waiting for an answer hidden somewhere between the gin and the Campari.

"Empty pages."

"Pages?"

"Yes. Places where nothing is expected from you. Time without an agenda. Conversations that aren't interviews. Walks that don't need to become stories."

I thought about it.

"That's a very complicated way of saying you want to do nothing."

He laughed.

‘’Creativity isn't hungry; it just is drowning in information, opinions, notifications, and everyone else's thoughts. It needs a little silence, a little boredom, A little room to hear itself think. For years, I thought creativity lived in addition. More places. More people, experiences. More everything. Now I'm starting to think it lives in subtraction. In the things I cancel. The invitations I decline. The afternoons I protect. The empty space I stop apologizing for.’’

Then he stopped, not because he was finished, but because he knew he wasn't. The pause that belongs to people who have accidentally said something true.

It felt like the main monologue in a theater, and I was so ready to clap for him. I grabbed the Campari, started the second one, walked over, and placed the glass in front of him.

"I wish you to create a safe space," I said.

He looked up.

"A safe space for what?"

"For your creativity."

He smiled; he had just realized someone had been listening.

Most people think creativity needs courage, but it needs safety. You can't imagine what it's like when you're constantly reacting. You can't hear new thoughts when you're busy surviving old ones. You can't create when your mind is occupied with managing yesterday's fears, last week's mistakes, and tomorrow's possibilities.

‘’Creativity needs presence, and that's why space matters,’’ he said. For a moment, neither of us said anything. Some thoughts improve when you leave them alone.

"That's beautiful," I said.

"But just to be clear, you're still paying for both Negronis."

He laughed.

"I keep saying I need more space."

"You do."

He shook his head.

"No. I need less."

I thought about that for a second.

Maybe space isn't something you find,  it's something you recover. Something that was already there before the noise arrived. Before every free moment became an opportunity to consume something.

He finished his drink and stood up.

For someone who spent an hour talking about space, he left very little of it behind: two empty glasses, a few honest thoughts, and enough silence for something new to grow.

As he walked toward the door, the room felt spacious.