Story Time?

So, I have deiced to finally post a story I wrote. I picked one I thought one that was alright; not amazing, but not horrid. I have also shown it to a few friends, and they all generally liked it. (I guess...) Plus, it is one of the less morbid, and sad stories. Tell me your honest opinion?

The Ledge

Standing on the ledge she felt the cold breeze rush past her face, blowing her long wavy auburn hair out of her face, and leaving goose bumps up and down her bare arms, reminding her that she was still alive. Closing her eyes she stood, allowing her senses to fully enjoy the wind. As the gusts of air whirled around her, she sensed all the places it had been, like the buttery sweet smell of Canada, the blackish-green vision of the sea that is perpetually covered with storms, and the minty coolness of the artic. One crisp, sun dried brown leaf swirled around her, before creasing her cheek with its brittle, leathery texture, and then falling down, as the wind moved on without it. Without opening her eyes opening her eyes she caught it as it became waist height. She stood there, unmoving as she silently said her goodbyes to her friend who never judged, never overlooked her, never belittled her, and always completely understood her. She said goodbye to the wind.

Slowly prying her eyes open she looked down at the tiny piece of dead foliage she still held in her hand. Its veins were not sunk in, nor were they protruding out. They were slightly faded, as if trying to hide. One of the three tips looked like it had been brutally ripped off, while another looked as if it had just given up, and fallen off. There were no remains of the steam.

Staring at this irrelevant plant, she began to feel pathetic. Why should she be identifying with something as stupid as a leaf? Just because it was alone? Because it seemed to be fed up with the world it was born into? Because it was never truly understood, in any way? Because it had long ago given up any small shriveled hope of finding any living being that could? And it was just now so fed up with the loneliness that ate away at its soul, every second of every day, that it was willing to put itself out of its own misery? That it was about to be put out of its misery?

In a spurt of pity for the poor dead greenery, and irrational anger at herself for personifying a leaf with all of her personal problems, she mercilessly crushed it, and put it out of its desolation. Letting go she watched as the bits and pieces slowly floated the twenty four stories down to earth. The only question left now, was wither or not she would follow, or if she would have the courage to try to survive another day.