Watercolour

I was just browsing through my old files and came across some more pieces of writing, so I thought I'd select one of the less depressing pieces and post it here.
Comments would, as always, be appreciated. But be kind...i'm pretty sure this is about 3/4 years old and I've not bothered to edit it at all!

Her head was forever swimming with dreams of happiness, snapshots of moments pictures in fairytales.
The wind swept through her hair, occasionally encountering a tangle that had been ignored. Recently, the wind had become somewhat of an attachment to her; an extension of her thoughts that she was yet to acknowledge.
She found herself framed by the surroundings that had become so familiar to her, she gained a sense of comfort from the log that seemed to mould itself around her body as she she sat and watched the leaves moves in rhythm with the wind; she often found herself thinking about how short lived the life cycle of a leaf really was. Often she would wonder when it's life began and at what point it would be appropriate to mourn it's death. She couldn't help but wonder if this point was the same for each leaf, as it had grown from the same tree, been touched by the same wind and finished it's cycle on the same floor.
During those moments where she would study the movements of each leaf intently, she felt it important not to neglect the role played by the wind. In her head, she began to see the link between each leaf, each touch of the wind that she soon realised she shared with the life of a leaf; the very same consequence that a leaf would endure from a gust of wind was experienced by her hair and the loose bits of material that kept her guarded.
She became further intrigued by the correlation between the time of the day and the level of movement conjured by a transparent yet powerful element. She spent more and more time watching the world in the way it deserved to be, focusing on the true importance of daily occurrences. She was alone, both in surroundings and thoughts, but she had never felt more accepted as those outside of her frame flittered through life; rushing for reasons that did not exist, focusing on the trivial and allowing a life cycle to be created in order for them to have something to follow.
As she remained on the log, she realised there was a reason it fitted her so perfectly. She had allowed a fairytale to take over her mind, and she allowed her dreams to be stripped away from her. She could see that there had always been some truth in believing that she was alone, she had been left behind in a desolate place;believing she had been reduced to an empty shell.
The leaves continued to float to the ground, occasionally cascading into an organised mess by her feet; the protection provided by the material around her had ceased as she allowed the wind to touch her. She felt the wind floating along her skin, and as she embraced the subtle breeze, she felt the strength of a thousand forgotten tears build up inside of her.
The wind continued to pick up, relentless in it's daily schedule as the sun had moved slightly southwards. At that point, the wind seemed to carry an ocean of shattered dreams and fractured rainbows that had been experienced by all inside her frame, and equally by those trapped outside.
The emptiness she had felt inside for so long seemed to fade as she recognised the shared touch of the wind, the same loss of hope and the same need for an internal resurrection that was a necessity in order to live out the full extent of a life cycle.
She realised that alongside her own secluded frame were a thousand of other secluded frames, asking the same questions and longing for answers to the unanswerable.