The ocean isn't really beautiful.
Even Bukowski said so.

Stop treating things like they need to be
happy gooey and awesome.
In fact,
the happy gooey--or crunchy if it is preferable-- awesome,
isn't real because it
oozes alacrity
and therefore adds some sort of undeniable blandness,
like the way they add unfavorable GMOs in food,
to reality
that makes happy gooey awesome all the more not
perfect.
The sun isn't always magnificent is it?

There will be bad days,
where
people are strange
and do strange things
that  you will not understand
and you will do strange things
where people will never understand
or when **** just starts to fall apart
like life lacks forward momentum
and nihilism runs rampant in your lungs.
But it's not always night is it?

And then there will be normal days
when this place seems to let you breathe for awhile,
inhaling and exhaling
filing up those voids of the "bad days"
and the "good days",
allowing you to enjoy the small pleasures of this
world.
Allowing you to fit
and conform
into boundaries of your own
self-made contentment,
ultimately restricting you
into your self-made hole
with you and your conquered beliefs over the years
from good situations or bad situations
or situations in between.
But
and don't mind me for taking that long to reach
a small point
the entire universe isn't that small is it?