Enchantment Somehow Never Lasts

The wind is so gently gusting through my window, carrying in it's arms the scent of rain. I hear through the darkness the symphony of leaves as they are whipped by the promise of a storm--to and fro--and it feels just like my heart. Whipped. Tattered. In darkness. Torn. Who is this sad person that I've become, always craving, always longing, and never completely satisfied? It does not matter who I am with or what I am doing-- I'm lonely. But I wonder, does anyone ever feel completely not alone?
I crave this solitude like I crave the air that I breathe, but at the same time it sickens me to my core because I want to know that someone, somewhere truly cares. But maybe the only one who truly cares I've grown into the habit of ignoring simply because I'd rather live with the person I think I am, than who I truly am.
The wind has stopped now, and that enchanting scent of rain is fading away, slowly. I think of all that I think I am, all that I've done, all that I've lived and learned, whether good or bad. I think of the crickets chirping outside my window, as they call for a mate to carry on the line of crickets in the neighborhood. Then, when the winter season comes, they die, decompose, and return to the dust from which they came, just like I shall one day. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, man will return from whence he came... and what will I have accomplished in my few and troublesome days? More pain, more sin, more heartache and disease? What will I have brought to the world, or more importantly, to God?
I feel so horridly useless, alone, and, quiet honestly, tarnished and ruined. You can scrub the oxidation off silver, and you can cut a raw stone into a priceless gem, but what can you do with a piece of broken pottery except scrape your open wounds like Job did. Tonight my heart's cry is that of Paul, for he said I do the things I do not wish to do, and the things I want to do I do not do. Why does it always have to be this way? I'm so tired of failing, of not quite living up to who I want--and who I should be.
I'm just so tired. Tired of trying.